


O Happy Dagger

by M3m3mnt0M0r1



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Non-Despair (Dangan Ronpa), Blood and Violence, Class Issues, F/F, Fate & Destiny, God Complex, Hospitalization, I will die on that hill, I'm Bad At Tagging, Implied/Referenced Parental Death, Implied/Referenced Parental Neglect, Inaccurate Police Procedure, Kaede is Half-French, Kaede-centric, Light Angst, Manipulation, Not Beta Read, Pre-Relationship, Protagonist Akamatsu Kaede, Protagonist Shirogane Tsumugi, References to Ancient Greek Religion & Lore, References to Canon, Semi-Accurate Emergency Services, Stabbing, Stalking, Superstition, Swearing, Tsumugi is lowkey Kaedesexual, Wordcount: Over 1.000, meet-cute gone wrong, tsumugi-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-02-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,640
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22532938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/M3m3mnt0M0r1/pseuds/M3m3mnt0M0r1
Summary: Kaede Akamatsu was just another test subject. Another specimen for Tsumugi to observe, who existed solely to enhance her writing prowess. Yet as her teacher droned on about historical fiction, amethyst eyes continued to haunt her. What was so special about them? They were just eyes. Windows to the soul, supposedly. Maybe the color? Contacts. Or maybe some sort of genetic mutation. No, the color could be explained away with science. There was something illogical about how they stuck in her mind. Something her imagination would run wild with, if given the chance.
Relationships: Akamatsu Kaede/Shirogane Tsumugi
Kudos: 14





	O Happy Dagger

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for clicking on "O Happy Dagger"! I hope you enjoy it!

From a young age, Tsumugi knew she was a good writer. No, scratch that. A great writer. An amazing writer. A storyteller so talented that she made hard-hearted readers into blubbering saps--with only a few words. Words were her people, and she was their god.

The more she explored it, the more effective it became. She felt much like a witch, learning the intricacies of her craft to strengthen her spell. She did daily exercises, read books about writing--truly ironic--, entered contests. In response, the universe smiled. Money fell into her hands as if a rich uncle had died. She got into an elite high school. Popular kids invited her to parties, unpopular kids gave her nods of respect in the hallways. 

And the more her writing paid off, the more she learned. People were awfully open when you asked them about themselves. Even more open when you deflected their questions and pried further. She created files in her brain, references should she encounter them at odd times. A guide to socialization. Her imagination decided to use these models as a ground zero. 

Love stories, back stories, character studies. A jock became a mercenary, a wallflower a budding protagonist. Little details carried over from files, which in turn originated in reality. Dialect, body language, facial expressions. 

Yet as Tsumugi sat down in the school garden, brushing off a page of her notebook, she noticed a student she hadn't yet studied. A girl about her age. Blonde, average height, good posture. She stood in a gaggle of girls, all whispering and giggling and gesturing. She had been smiling, about to speak, until those light amethyst eyes met the writer's teal-gray ones. A moment of hesitance--confusion, perhaps?--then the smile grew wider, and the eyes looked elsewhere. 

A new character. One composed of positivity. A friendly optimist. Tsumugi tapped her pen on her chin. What else. The character needed a hobby. Maybe a sport? No, the blonde didn't look particularly muscular. Something with technology? No, her friends didn't fit that crowd. Plus, she dressed too preppy. Maybe an instrument? Something joyful, to fit the theme. Something popular too, since Blondie seemed to have plenty of friends. Violin? No, violinists were more nerdy. Guitar? No, that was too laid back. Something requiring rigor--she had proper posture (which must have been well-practiced), but still somewhat casual. Something like...

Piano. Yes, that was it. Blondie would play piano. It was just popular enough to match the girl's friend group, but sophisticated enough to match the way Blondie held herself. She'd be firm in her beliefs, but flexible in new situations. A fun character to write, and one easily inserted into many a story.

Still, there were holes her imagination couldn't fill. How would she speak? Fluid, drawling statements of archaic words? Short, spitfire sentences with an informal tone? What were her facial expressions like? Was she passive aggressive or indignant? An ugly crier or a pretty crier? Did she repress her emotions or embrace them? Tsumugi needed more research.

But in order to get more data, Tsumugi needed to find her. Now, she could make this a challenge. She could call in a favor and get someone to look for her--based on description alone. She could wander around the campus until she happened upon her. Or she could use her fucking brain and discover her name first via class records.

Tsumugi had rubbed elbows with enough people at the school to pick this needle out of the haystack. The walk to the library took five minutes, finding the class list took another five, and two minutes later--for a total of twelve minutes--she had found Blondie's real name. 

Kaede Akamatsu. An average student, halfway up the ranks. Same grade as Tsumugi--though she had a different classroom. After classes, she could shadow her from there. See how "Kaede Akamatsu" acted with no one else around. Her purest self. She would get her answers then. For now, Tsumugi had to get to class--lunch was almost over. 

Kaede Akamatsu was just another test subject. Another specimen for Tsumugi to observe, who existed solely to enhance her writing prowess. Yet as her teacher droned on about historical fiction, amethyst eyes continued to haunt her. What was so special about them? They were just eyes. Windows to the soul, supposedly. Maybe the color? Contacts. Or maybe some sort of genetic mutation. No, the color could be explained away with science. There was something illogical about how they stuck in her mind. Something her imagination would run wild with, if given the chance.

One bell and several short exchanges later, Tsumugi was booking it through the school. Her classmates had chosen today, of all days, to attempt small talk after dismissal. She humored them--her reputation would take quite a dive if she refused them--but cut things short. She had a girl to chase--and standing there chatting wouldn't make her run faster. 

Thankfully, Kaede was a slow walker; Tsumugi spotted her changing her shoes at her locker. Having already switched pairs, Kaede set her indoor shoes back in the compartment. She lifted her schoolbag's strap over her head, resting it on the opposite shoulder. Tsumugi stole glances as she too changed her shoes; their lockers were only a section apart--it was improbable that they hadn't met before, and yet. 

Maybe there was something fated about their meeting. Yes, a reason for them to cross paths now after having so many foiled opportunities. Which would hopefully reveal itself soon, if Tsumugi did her due diligence. Speaking of, Kaede was on the move. The writer tossed her shoes into the locker, slamming it shut. Thank goodness it had an automatic lock. The blonde had already started on the long path to the road. 

Tsumugi sprinted to catch up, though slowed down once she was ten meters away--a respectable distance, an unsuspicious distance. If Kaede realized Tsumugi was tailing her, then her behavior would alter accordingly--skewing any data the writer gathered. She'd have to be as quiet and unnoticeable as possible. Blend into the surroundings, appear to belong there. Easy peasy. To be a writer was to be an observer, a witness--though not a participant--of the action. It was a previous philosophy of hers, one she'd gradually discarded as she gained notoriety. Still, the persona fit like a second skin; it concealed her true intentions and personality beneath. 

Kaede turned around a corner; Tsumugi followed. An Alice chasing her white rabbit. More turns, more corners--but less noise. The sound of chirping birds had diminished, and only a handful of people meandered down the road. Still, blondie strode on. Just how far away did she live? It had to have been at least fifteen minutes since Tsumugi began her pursuit. Did Kaede walk this far every day? She would've had to; their school didn't have any parking for student drivers. Additionally, their school didn't rely on zoning--applicants were accepted on merit, not address--so it would be her only option. No, she could have had her parents drop her off--though that likely would lead to teasing and a dip in reputation; Tsumugi's observation-students thought it geeky and awkward. Yet she chose to walk. Interesting.

A bold choice, especially from so far away. It was dangerous for teenage girls to walk alone--not to mention alone before the sun came up. Sirens sounded in the distance. The sound grew louder--Tsumugi pulled her bag closer to her person--then faded. Kaede lived in a rougher part of town, it seemed. Interesting. The writer would bet all her winnings that blondie's gaggle of friends didn't know; students were far too shallow to openly hang with a kid from the wrong side of the tracks, let alone welcome them warmly. It would appear Kaede had a persona of her own. 

Shit. Kaede had turned a corner during Tsumugi's analysis. Tsumugi raced to catch up, twirling around the corner--straight into a dark alley. A shing, then the glint of a blade. Shit. There was another figure--Kaede?--in the alley. With a knife. The writer put her hands up in surrender. Could the person even see the gesture? They were both standing in shadow, though the figure had been there longer, so their eyes had adjusted better than Tsumugi's. Probably. Hopefully. She began to shuffle backward, her muscle too tense to run. The figure advanced. 

Tsumugi was too young to die. In an alley, alone, at the hands of a stranger. No, too plain for a god like her. Too ironic. For the famed Tsumugi Shirogane to die unknown and unrecognized, on a journey to improve her craft. Perhaps her hubris was her downfall--was she a Greek hero? At least she didn't fuck her mom like Oedipus. Or spend twenty years trying to get home like Odysseus. Or kill her wife and children in a maddened trance like Heracles. Still, it was truly an error on the Fates' part if she were to die here and now. She was young. Promising. On her rise to the top. Without any of her Kaede questions answered. 

"Why are you following me?" Or not. 

Tsumugi's shoe caught on a pebble, and she fell flat on her ass. She let out a nervous laugh, even as her pulse raced, her face blushed, and her rear stung. 

"I said," Kaede bent down, placed the blade beneath Tsumugi's chin, and raised her head up, extending the writer's neck. "why are you following me?" A beat of silence, then an addition, "Skank."

So that's how they'd play this game. 

Tsumugi sneered up at her. "What's it to ya, slut?" A breath. Kaede shoved the knife into a pocket and hauled Tsumugi to her feet, shoving her into the nearest wall, pressing her into the cool stone. 

"Answer the question." The knife reappeared. "Or I'll mar that pretty face of yours."

Tsumugi chuckled, even as the threat increased her pulse fivefold. She needed to change the subject, catch Kaede off guard, beat her at her own game. "I can handle a little scarring." Should she really play her one trump card? Kaede still seemed focused, nonchalant. It looked like she had to. "But can your friends handle the fact that you live near thugs and gangs?" 

Kaede snarled, and the blade vanished. Then a squish. Like stirring jello. Then the pain. Like a shuriken-shaped lotus, spreading through her gut, agony growing, swelling, pulsing every moment. "D-did you just...fuckin'...stab...me?" The blade sloshed back out, slick with a liquid Tsumugi didn't want to think about; if she tried, she'd surely pass out. 

"Oh fuck fuck fuck. Shit fuck. Motherfucking shit." Kaede dropped the knife, smearing its coating on the pavement. Tsumugi's knees gave out. Her head thunked against the wall. She dragged her hands to the wound, pressing down with all her strength--it was supposed to stop the bleeding, right? Kaede backed away, entranced by the macabre sight. It was almost modern art: the color contrast, the position of Tsumugi's body. 

The writer's vision started to blur. She needed to say something to break Kaede out of her haze. Move, mouth, move! 

"Arensch you gunna cawl somewun?" Her tongue was heavy in her mouth, and her hands lessened their pressure on the wound. Kaede snapped into action. She rushed forward and knelt in front of Tsumugi, raising the writer's shirt and removing her own. She bundled the garment up and pressed it into the bleeding. Removing one hand, she retrieved her cell from her schoolbag and dialed 119, informing the operator of her location. Once the operator confirmed an ambulance was on the way, Kaede hung up. The girl was fading out. Kaede tapped her cheek, a light slap. 

"Miss?" Oh God. She hadn't even gotten her name. She'd fucking stabbed a stranger. That's a great introduction. No response. She tried again, with a harder slap. "Miss?" Nothing. Shit shit shit shit shit shit. She'd have to hope the ambulance arrived soon--she couldn't have a death on her hands. She was a teenager. Hopefully, if--no, if was dangerous. She'd have to think more positively than that. Hopefully, when the girl survived this, she wouldn't press charges. 

It wasn't an intended thing, the stabbing. Well, Kaede had intended to stab her, but not really. It was more of a kneejerk response than anything else. An impulse. It wasn't premeditated or planned. Kaede only carried a knife around in the first place to ward off any would-be burglars. Or rapists. She'd been trained in self-defense, but hadn't brushed up on it in years--and weapons were more imposing than one's own body. Tough situations made tough people and all that. 

Not to say that Kaede was secure with her socioeconomic standing. It was a sore subject for her. Her father had worked himself to death after falling on bad times, and her mother had found quick and easy ways to make money--in other people's beds. A French woman in Japan was exotic--and fetched a high price with customers. It was the easiest way to pay Kaede's tuition; low-effort, high-reward. 

At least, that's what Kaede had assumed based on her mother's attitude. It had been quite a few years since she'd started her occupation, so now there was almost a rhythm to it. Kaede would wake up to an empty house (her mother worked late into the night/early into the morning), eat breakfast, pack lunch, leave for school. Attend school, schmooze with her "friends"--a tactical choice, as they came from old money; every out-of-school social engagement provided her with fancy food and a full belly--a luxury she normally couldn't afford. Return home to a sleeping mother, complete homework, make dinner, see her mother off to work, go to bed, and repeat. 

If her mother had a particularly lucrative week, then the week after had days off, where Kaede could see her mother awake and alert; morning, noon, and night. Still, those were rare and risky--every day off was one of missed clients, a day of lost income. If the girl pressed charges, then Kaede would be up to her neck in legal fees--and her mother wouldn't have a day off for at least five years. And it was all her fault. She pressed her shirt deeper into the wound, praying for the clotting to start soon. 

Sirens were approaching, and Kaede resisted the urge to hide her knife, pretend as if she were a passerby who happened upon the scene. That'd look even more suspicious, so she just kept tending the wound. Not a minute later, paramedics loaded the girl into a vehicle and drove off--leaving police to examine the area. One officer took photos, another inspected their forgotten school bags. A third officer, after conferring with the other two, had approached her for questioning. 

She was innocent, it was an accident, et cetera, et cetera. Kaede told the story near-truthfully. The two were playing with the knife, and it accidentally ended up in the other girl's abdomen. Though she considered herself a talented actress--it took skill to mimic the habits and mannerisms of a rich girl--the policeman squinted his eyes at her. Evaluating. She let her distress--the kind worrying about the consequences-- dance across her face. Hopefully he'd think it was concern for her friend.

"Alright, miss...?" The man let his voice fade out.

Kaede's mother taught her to distance herself from law enforcement. Lawmen were dangerous, especially for someone with a vaguely illicit profession. Still, should Kaede ever encounter a policeman, she was to be polite and obedient. 

"Kaede Akamatsu, sir." 'Sir' was always a nice touch. It was a crowd pleaser, a never-failing compliment and admission of respect that older men--especially those in positions of power, and doubly for those insecure about said position--lapped up like a cat to milk. 

"Miss Kaede Akamatsu." A statement. Spoken with slight disdain, but no hostility. She could work with that. "You are not under arrest." An internal sigh of relief. "However," Dammit. "Should Miss Shirogane" So that was her name. Her surname, at least. "Decide to press charges, expect a summons to the station for more extensive questioning." No shit Sherlock.

She stifled a laugh. Shirogane's blood still clung to her hands--metallic like those Euros her mother had shown her as a young child, though not nearly as useful--and all she could think of was sassing a cop. Was this hysteria? Laughter began to bubble in her throat, but she shoved it down down down, deep into her stomach. The policeman was still observing her, even though he had walked away, was now talking to his colleagues again, thinking he was sly about the sideeyes he sent her way. Kaede had to hold it together.

But how could she? This was absurd. A weird dream that she'd tell her mother about next chance she had. They'd chat in the kitchenette, hands wrapped around their cups of tea, warming their palms. Soft candlelight would illuminate their faces, like it was the good old days, like her dad was alive and the three of them were seated around a campfire, cooking that marshmallow American treat that he had loved so much. Kaede hadn't stabbed anyone--it was a strange, peculiar dream.

An awfully realistic one, since her pulse thumped swift as a racehorse. And her knees felt like gelatin. Kaede needed to sit down, breathe, calm down--but how could she do that without closure? She had to know Shirogane's condition, get to her before the cops, convince her to not press charges. God, she really fucked up this time. She sucked in air--but each breath spread that damned coppery smell, filled her lungs with it, stole any solace she could have obtained. Her hands--Shouldn't an emergency worker have swabbed them by now?

On cue, a woman in scrubs and a surgical mask hanging around her throat approached, holding a cotton swab and a plastic baggie. The woman tugged on latex gloves, and Kaede let the--doctor, nurse, surgeon?--woman grasp her hands and swipe the swab over her skin, absorbing some of that almost-dried maroon. She promptly snapped open the baggie and dropped the sample inside. She pressed a moist towelette into Kaede's hands, whispered a thank you, and climbed inside a van obstructing the alley's entrance. It must have arrived after the ambulance, though Kaede couldn't recall when it had pulled up. 

Numb, she fumbled with the towelette, tearing it open after a few tries. The damp cloth was folded into a neat square like a map. She unfolded it and scrubbed it into her skin, filling the plain map with little nations of blood. The white became pink, then cherry, then crimson. Kaede pressed the wipe into her hands, digging deep in the flesh, until the only redness came from skin irritation. 

The police had put up tape, preserving the scene, and most of the officers had left. Only one remained. 

"Miss Akamatsu?" 

She snapped out of her daze. "Yes?" What more could the police want? They'd gotten her statement and a sample of Shirogane's blood. There was no more evidence to collect. Did they need her to clear the scene for further examination? To find proof that she lied, that the stabbing had malicious intent? Oh God, they were going to arrest her. Shirogane would die of her injuries, and Kaede would be charged with murder. She'd be given a life sentence. Her name would be plastered all over the news, her life story spread around the prefecture. Her ex-classmates would find out the truth. Her mother would have to leave the country to escape, changing her name somewhere along the way. 

Kaede tensed, ready to run if the officer tried anything. 

"Would you like an escort to the hospital?" 

Or the fates had decided to throw her a bone. 

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and responded, "Yes, please."

***

There was something in her arm. She was lying down, her eyes were closed--lids feeling heavy as Sisyphus's stone--and there was something in her arm. She raised the limb a few centimeters into the air. The foreign object twinged. An odd sensation. Not painful, but not soothing either. Off enough to draw attention to itself. 

She lowered her arm. If only she could see it. She tried to lift her eyelids once more. Nope. They wouldn't budge. Hmm. Maybe she should try to identify it through context; it was a writer's most useful tool. She ran through her senses. 

Sight? Non-applicable. 

Smell? She inhaled from her diaphragm, sucking in as much air as possible. Chemicals. Disinfectant. 

Taste? She licked the inside of her mouth. A faint taste of saline.

Hearing? Machines whirring. Distant beeping. 

And finally, touch. There was fabric on her body. Not a cotton blend like her uniform. Something not soft, but not scratchy. Comfortable enough, but not as nice as silk or lace. There was a weight above the fabric, another cloth that covered her calves--where the first stopped. A blanket, judging by the fuzziness. A pillow behind her head. A half-squishy, half-firm surface beneath her. A mattress. She was in a bed of sorts. 

The bed, combined with the cloth; disinfectant; saline; and machinery, indicated she was in a hospital. Thus, the thing in her arm had to be an IV. Those two conclusions led her to another one--she had survived the stabbing. She hadn't died a nobody in a grungy alley, her corpse devoured by starving stray animals. Tsumugi shouldn't have felt as shocked as she was; she was immortal, invincible, untouchable. The writer felt something akin to shame in doubting herself. 

"Ahem." She wasn't alone. Her hands clenched around the blanket, squeezing it for comfort. Tsumugi tried to open her eyes once more. A flutter, then slow blinks, then her cerulean orbs focused. Blobs of color and fuzzy shapes surrounded her.

"Shirogane?" She angled herself toward the voice. Globs of yellow and purple greeted her. "You're awake." The voice was feminine and apologetic. Tinged with remorse. Blondie.

"Are you going to stab me again?" The blob dashed forward and pressed a hand over Tsumugi's mouth, leaning over her. The writer squirmed, leaning back into her pillow. 

"Shhh. That was an accident, and I'm super sorry it happened." A pause. "I also apologize for calling you a skank. Please please please don't press charges." Tsumugi stopped squirming. Waiting. "If you promise you won't scream, I'll remove my hand and explain everything." The writer squinted her eyes, yet remained silent as the appendage slid off her lips. 

"Explain what? Why you drove a blade into my bowels?" Kaede opened her mouth, about to speak. Tsumugi raised a hand. "'Cause I feel like that's pretty obvious." Kaede pressed her lips together. An interesting show of patience. She'd stabbed Tsumugi impulsively, with no warning. Yet now, she held her tongue. Tsumugi must have really hit a nerve. 

"I provoked you, and you reacted." The writer continued. She pushed up her not-there glasses, a reflex, something to do with her hands. "Does that match your recollection?"

Kaede swallowed. "Shouldn't you be screaming?" Shirogane cocked her head. "Or crying, or threatening to press charges? Fuck." The girl kept staring at her. "Why are you offering me a way out? I stabbed you. You almost died. Why the mercy? Why the kindness? What do you gain from it?"

Shirogane blinked. Once, twice. Then she laughed. A deep belly laugh, cut short with her hands clutching her side, her face contorted in pain. She gasped, breathing heavily. 

Once her breathing returned to normal, she graced Kaede with an answer. "Because, Kaede Akamatsu, I find you interesting." How did Shirogane know her name? Certainly not through the authorities--she'd been unconscious when they arrived. Through school? They were wearing the same uniforms during the incident. But they didn't have any classes together. So maybe Shirogane learned her name through a friend. "I was following you after all."

Okay, that was suspect. Still, since Shirogane had let her speak her piece, Kaede let her continue. Except the girl had stopped speaking, expectant. Ugh. Fine. If she wanted a dramatic reveal, Kaede would give it to her. Recompense for not pressing charges.

"Why were you following me?" The blonde crossed her arms. 

Shirogane smirked. "To gather data." Kaede rolled her eyes. Another attempt at suspense. She huffed, and Shirogane gave in. "I catalog everyone I meet, little details to help me later. I've observed all of our classmates--their quirks, commonalities, pet peeves, hobbies, speech structure. Little things." As she spoke, she counted off on her fingers and stared at the ceiling. It seemed almost practiced. "Every student at our school" She dropped her gaze to her lap, then flicked her eyes up to bore into Kaede's. "--except you." All that gesturing, all that posturing, just for some eye contact? This bitch was a drama queen. 

Kaede refrained from rolling her eyes, though it took a considerable amount of effort. Shirogane kept waxing poetic. "I saw you briefly the other day; you were in a crowd of friends, smiling and laughing," She looked at her lap again. A little chuckle. "And then we made eye contact." Her hands tightened around the blanket again. 

The blonde squinted. "Nope. I call bullshit. There's something you're not telling me."

Shirogane maintained her innocent expression. "Oh?"

Kaede persisted. "You aren't that determined to gather information. If you were, you would have been stabbed a dozen times by now." Shirogane tilted her head again. "Additionally, you admitted to antagonizing me; you willingly provoked me into stabbing you. Something's not adding up." 

Shirogane hummed. "Well said, Blondie." She winked. "I suppose you've earned the truth. Here goes." She sighed and gestured to Kaede. "Your eyes. That's what makes you special." The blonde raised an eyebrow. "Cheesy as it is, I couldn't get the damned color out of my mind. As for the stabbing, I was pushing your buttons. I wanted to see what happened when the tough mask fell, when you let your most primal emotions out." She sighed. "But instead of something normal, like backing down or sucker punching me, you fucking stabbed me." Her eyes fogged over. "You truly are interesting, Blondie." Blinking herself back to reality, Tsumugi concluded. "And I brought that on myself, so I'm willing to take the blame."

Kaede scoffed. "Really? You're that easily swayed?"

The writer raised her shoulders. "Take it or leave it. It's the truth, regardless if you believe it or not. I suggest you accept it and move on; 'don't look a gift horse in the mouth' and all that." She looked at her nails. "After all, I can still press charges." The blonde paled. Though she was confined to a hospital bed, Tsumugi was in control. She was the god here, after all.

Except something about the dread on Kaede's face bothered her. Made the writer feel less divine and more diabolical. She needed to cheer her up. 

"So what's our story?" Tsumugi leaned her head onto her hand, pushing her cheek upward. 

Blood rushed back into Kaede's face. "'Our story'?"

The writer nodded. "Yeah, what did you tell the cops?" 

"Just that we were playing with a knife, and my grip slipped." Kaede wrung her hands. 

Tsumugi stroked her chin. "I can work with that. But first things first, do you know my full name?"

Kaede broke her hands apart to tug at her collar. "I know your last name. Shirogane, right?"

The writer nodded. "Yes. My first name is Tsumugi." 

"Tsumugi." Kaede repeated. "Tsumugi Shirogane."

Said girl smiled. "Perfect."

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Might add a part two, who knows? Let me know if y'all liked it


End file.
